What Goes Around, Comes Around
by JoiForber
Summary: The loyal staff of Grace Brothers discover they have been diddled out of their retirement and are the beneficiaries of an old country manor. It has everything they could want- old world charm, a working farm, serenity, camaraderie...and the ghosts of Mrs. Slocombe's past. Can she finally make peace with her past? Once the box is opened, could it ever be shut?
1. Chapter 1

**A Short Introduction to Life At A Country Manor**

The staff of Grace Brothers' Department Store found themselves rooked out of their retirement; Young Mr. Grace, the CEO of the firm, has squandered their retirement investments. Upon the reading of his will, they discovered they were the beneficiaries of an old country manor in which they could live out the remainder of their lives in peace and quiet. They could use the manor as an inn and generate income from it since it could not be sold. Their pension amounted to about £243 per month; they realized they had been diddled.

Those remaining were members of the Ladies' and Gents' Departments: Mrs. Betty Slocombe, Miss Shirley Brahms, Mr. Claybourne Humphries, Mr. Cuthbert Rumbold, and Captain Stephen Peacock. Mr. Ernest Grainger had long since retired and Mr. James Lucas moved on to another firm: Austin Reed. No one had heard from either of them since.

The country home, Millstone Manor, was situated in the village of Great Tender, a good ways outside of London. Being short on staff, the Grace Brothers staff would have to muck in and become a team, taking on the duties of running the farm and the inn. The only help they would have would be from the only two remaining house staff members- Mr. Maurice Moulterd and his daughter, Mavis Moulterd. Mr. Rumbold was left in charge of the Manor.

Mrs. Slocombe had some experience working on a farm, as she had been evacuated to a farm in Tiverton during World War II. She was a land girl and knew how to milk cows, muck stalls, gather eggs, plant and harvest crops. Her knowledge and experience would prove invaluable. Mr. Moulterd claimed to have a long-term relationship with Mrs. Slocombe during the war and brought up the subject quite often hinting at what supposedly happened. Mrs. Slocombe vehemently denied any impropriety.

Miss Jessica Lovelock, Young Mr. Grace's personal assistant, who was with him in his last hours, also joined them. He left a portion of the estate to her.

Her presence would be a constant source of friction at the Manor.

After some initial teething troubles, the staff settled into life in the country.

Despite the quiet charm of their home and the fresh air and sunshine, the staff had very few visits from their old friends and family. Captain Peacock's wife had died 10 years earlier. Mr. Rumbold's wife left him. Mrs. Axelby moved away before Mrs. Slocombe retired. Mr. Humphries' mother moved into a retirement home several years before Grace Brothers closed their doors for good.


	2. Call Me Betty

**Call Me Betty**

Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock found themselves alone in the kitchen of the Manor. Usually the gang would be engaged in the hustle and bustle of breakfast. Today was unusual; even Mr. Moulterd was nowhere about. Mavis had not yet gotten up to start her chores. The house was still; Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock shared a quiet cup of coffee. Bright morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows. The sounds of the animals scurrying about the barnyard created a background soundtrack. Captain Peacock reclined in his silk bathrobe and pajamas, leather house shoes on his feet. Mrs. Slocombe wore a teal satin dressing gown over her nightgown with matching slippers. Despite the early hour, her hair was impeccably coiffed.

Captain Peacock stretched his long legs out under the table. He took a sip of his coffee and set his cup down.

"Mrs. Slocombe," he began, "How long have we been here at Millstone Manor?"

She furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully, "About four months, I'd say, Captain Peacock."

"Are you happy here?" he asked, toying with his spoon and serviette.

"Oh, yes, Captain Peacock, very much so! It reminds me of my days as a land girl during the war. This country air is so therapeutic."

She noted his expression of melancholy, "Aren't you happy here, Captain Peacock?"

"I am," he sighed, "but I find myself very lonely at times." He glanced out the window.

"In a house full of people and guests, however can you be lonely?" she raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"At night. When all is quiet, I lie in bed wide-awake. The silence is deafening. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I come down to the lounge and read in front of the fire until I fall asleep with exhaustion," he explained in a quiet voice. His face was serious, his lips pursed tightly.

"Just what are you getting at?" she asked, feeling him out.

"Mrs. Slocombe, how long have we known each other?"

"Oh, I'd say at least 30 years, give or take."

He reached for her hand, studying her face, and seeking her eyes. His eyes locked on hers pleadingly. She looked away for a moment, uncomfortably. He rested his hand on top of hers and her heart skipped a beat.

"We're not strangers, then, are we?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"No. I would say we are not."

"Mrs. Slocombe," he began.

She raised her hand to interrupt him, "Betty. You may call me Betty," she smiled gently.

He cleared his throat, "Betty. We're not getting any younger. I don't want to spend the remainder of my days alone. I've been miserably lonely since Mrs. Peacock died ten years ago…"

"Cut to the chase, Captain Peacock," she said dryly.

"Stephen. Please call me Stephen…" he requested.

"Alright. _Stephen._ I'm not getting any younger either!" she stated pointedly.

He slid off his chair to the floor and knelt on one knee, still holding her hand.

He drew in a deep breath, his stomach doing flip-flops, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Betty, would you marry me?"

"What? Just like _that_? No courtship?" she asked incredulously.

"We've been together here for four months; it's almost like a courtship," he reasoned.

"How do I know I'll like you like that? Have you thought this through?""

"I have given this a lot of consideration. We've worked together for over twenty years at Grace Brothers and seemed to get along fine. That has to count for something."

"I thought you were keen on Miss Lovelock," she asked, eyeing him.

"She found out I haven't any money and she went right off me," he said sadly, his eyes soft and locked in on hers.

"You're not going to expect me to wait on you hand and foot, are you?" she narrowed her eyes.

"No. I'm really interested in companionship."

"We can have that without being married," she said pointedly, nodded for emphasis, and sipped her coffee.

"Betty, when the lights go out, I want to still be with you. The nights here are so incredibly lonely," he sighed.

"Is that all you're interested in? Get up!" she snapped angrily.

"No, that's not it at all!" he defended, his heart sinking, "When we get those big country storms, I can hear you crying and I want to hold you in my arms. When it's quiet and I'm alone with my thoughts, I want to talk to you. When it's cold, I want to snuggle with you under the quilt. I am so very envious of Mr. Humphries having Mavis to bunk in with. Since coming to live here, I've become increasingly lonelier. When I worked, I didn't notice it as much because I stayed busy."

He was so exposed and vulnerable. He implored her with his eyes. The corners of his mouth curved into a tight sad smile. His heart thumped in anticipation of her next words. She considered his words and thought about how nice it would be to have someone to hold her during a storm.

"And…I _do_ have a rather large bathtub all to myself!" he quipped, his eyes dancing.

She playfully slapped his arm, "I knew there was more to it!"

He drew back and chuckled, catching her hand in his, "And when Mr. Moulterd tries to reminisce about his 'war stories' involving you and him, I can tell him to shut up, because you are my wife…"

She smiled warmly at that thought.

She motioned to him to lean in closer so she could speak in a whisper, "All of his 'war stories' are machinations. I never did anything what he's always implying. Just a little canoodling, nothing more! The same as when we had our little thing back in 1965."

His face lit up at the memory, "You don't owe me an explanation," he shook his head.

"Captain Peacock, I don't know if I can marry you. There's my pussy to consider. Tiddles has never had a daddy. She doesn't take too kindly to strangers; I'm not sure how she will adapt to a step-father!"

He laughed to himself and shook his head.

The din of voices and footsteps indicated that the others had risen and were heading down to the kitchen for breakfast. Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe swiveled their heads toward the back stairway and the direction of the noise. The moment was broken. He quickly leaned over and gently pecked her cheek, his moustache tickling her. She delighted in the fragrance of his after-shave.

"Think about it, Betty," he whispered as he exited the kitchen and took the stairs up to his room.

Mrs. Slocombe turned her head and followed him with her eyes. She sat there silently drinking her coffee as the staff assembled at the table for breakfast.


	3. Ghosts From The Past

Ghosts From the Past

Maurice Moulterd had never been strikingly handsome. Betty Slocombe's, or as he knew her when, _Rachel Yiddle's_, attraction to him had been purely one of a naïve girl in a strange place during a stressful time. Their trysts were limited to some heated kissing and a few daring caresses in the milking shed, nothing more. But that didn't stop Mr. Moulterd from embellishing his memories with steamier innuendos.

He would steal a touch in passing and make suggestive comments when others were within earshot. This unnerved Mrs. Slocombe as she tried to keep up her posh persona.

Mr. Moulterd was rough, crude, and dirty. Nothing anyone would have suspected Mrs. Slocombe to be attracted to. So when he insinuated they had had it off, she became unglued.

"Mr. Moulterd!" she glared, "Although we may have been acquainted many, many years ago, _in our youth_, the passage of time has cancelled out any familiarity we may have had. I prefer to be known as _Mrs. Slocombe!"_

He gave her a snide look and scoffed, "Oh, you bird! You ain't half come on since you were known as 'The Tiverton Bicycle'!"

Captain Peacock looked away uncomfortably and Mrs. Slocombe felt her face grow hot. Maybe she should marry him; it would put an end to these embarrassing daily exchanges.


	4. A Quiet Ride to Town

**A Quiet Ride to Town**

The gang assembled in the kitchen for mid-morning tea. The chores were done and they were taking a much-needed break. Mavis had prepared scones, clotted cream, and tea. Mr. Humphries helped her set out the cups and saucers and the plate of scones.

"Do you need me to do anything else, Mavis?" he asked, smiling broadly at her.

"No, Mr. Humphries, you've been a great help in the woodshed. We've needed a lot more wood for the hot water since that large group came in from Germany. They have been most gracious, though. I think we might bring in enough money this week to pay for the tractor to be fixed."

"Yes, let's hope so," Mr. Humphries said, "I don't think me back could handle planting another acre of potatoes by hand!"

"Oh, that was awwwful!" Mrs. Slocombe drawled, "and I am unanimous in this!"

"Just think," Mr. Rumbold began, "we'll grow enough potatoes for our own use and may be able to take some to the farmer's market. That would bring in some money as well."

"Yes," said Miss Brahms, not trying to burst his bubble, "provided our potatoes are eatable!"

"Edible," Captain Peacock corrected.

"Oh, it don't take a rocket surgeon to plant potatoes!" brayed Mr. Moulterd, "You just throw th' eyes in th' ground and let 'em go! They know what to do."

Captain Peacock ran his fingers through his hair, "I need a haircut. Mr. Moulterd, where is the nearest barber?"

"Ahh, that would be in town. Jolly's Barber Shop. I could hitch up Old Dick for ya, if yer needin' to go!"

"I would appreciate that, thank you. Mrs. Slocombe, would you like to go into town?"

"Thank you, Captain Peacock. Miss Brahms, would you like to go with? We could do some window shopping," Mrs. Slocombe offered.

"That would be all I could afford to do!" Miss Brahms joked, "I'd be happy to join you. I'd like to pick up a bottle of wine."

"Oh, yes, Miss Brahms, wine _does_ sound good!"

"There's a winery just down the road a bit, Mrs. Slocombe," Mavis interjected, wiping the table as Mr. Humphries collected the plates and cups, "They have very good wine."

"It would be good protocol for us to support our fellow farmers and local merchants," Mr. Rumbold added, "If we buy from them, perhaps they will put in a good word for Millstone Manor."

"That's a good point," Captain Peacock agreed. "Well, Mrs. Slocombe, Miss Brahms, shall we be off?"

"I'll bring the cart round for ya!" Mr. Moulterd bellowed, leaving out the back kitchen door.

"Would you pick me up some oatmeal soap?" Miss Lovelock asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Slocombe makes her own soaps and hand salve," Mr. Humphries blurted.

Mrs. Slocombe shot him a look. He shrunk.

"Oh, well," Miss Lovelock wrinkled her nose, "I'd prefer some Yardley's oatmeal soap, if you please."

"Of course, Miss Lovelock," Captain Peacock nodded, smiling.

She handed him a pound note.

"Yer chariot awaits!" Mr. Moulterd called through the front door.

Captain Peacock climbed into the cart, helping Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms. Captain Peacock took the reigns and Mrs. Slocombe scooched close to him. Miss Brahms sat on the back seat.

Mrs. Slocombe sat primly with her hands in her lap. Captain Peacock looped his arm through hers and glanced over at her. She smiled shyly as he slapped the reigns and the horse began to trot.

The small gesture was not lost on Miss Brahms as she watched Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe in the front seat. They communicated in sweet, wordless private glances. The horse clop-clopped along and Miss Brahms enjoyed the view of the countryside; she hadn't left the Manor much since they arrived.

It was a warm, dry summer day. Butterflies flitted lazily, hovering over the meadows. A few cows munched dreamily near a rock wall, mooing as they drove by. The smell of hay and animals hung in the air.

"They certainly look larger when you see them in person, don't they?" Miss Brahms remarked.

"Those cows look to be a different breed than our Betsy," Mrs. Slocombe observed.

"Our cows are jerseys," Captain Peacock stated, "These are Herefords. They are beef cattle."

"I didn't know you was so educated in cow breeds, Captain Peacock!" Miss Brahms cried, impressed.

"I've learned a few things here and there," he replied. All of his late-night reading sessions came to good use!

The trees formed an archway over the road as Captain Peacock deftly handled the reigns. Mrs. Slocombe looked left and right, absorbing the sights and sounds of the surrounding farms. The sun shone warmly as they neared town. The wooden seat was rather uncomfortable and Miss Brahms shifted.

Captain Peacock wheeled the cart to an area where he could park it and tether the horse to a drain pipe.

Captain Peacock disembarked the cart and stood at the ready to help the ladies out. He offered his arm to Mrs. Slocombe, "Lean on me and put your foot on the step. Yes. Right there. OK, gently, gently. That's it. Now step down; I've got you."

She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. He raised his eyebrows, a broad smile splashed across his face.

"Now you. Miss Brahms," he coached. He offered his hand and she grasped it tightly. She backed to the edge of the cart uneasily. Ever the gentleman, Captain Peacock could never resist the opportunity to catch a glimpse up a woman's skirt, and he tilted his head to steal a glance.

"Oh, Miss Brahms!" Mrs. Slocombe gasped, "Mind your skirt, dear!"

Miss Brahms self-consciously reached back and tugged her skirt down a bit, even though it wasn't riding up.

"OK, Now you set your foot on the step. Don't worry, I've got you. Slowly, slowly. That's it. Good. Now step straight down. Very good."

She joined Mrs. Slocombe on the sidewalk.

The town was quaint and old; some of the buildings looked to be at least 300 years old. Captain Peacock visually located the barber shoppe.

"I'm going for a haircut. What say we meet back here in about an hour or so?"

"That sounds good, Captain Peacock," Mrs. Slocombe answered, "Well see you in an hour.".

She gave him a last glance and she and Miss Brahms departed.

When they were out of earshot of him, Miss Brahms turned to Mrs. Slocombe, "Ere! What's your game?"

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Brahms?" Mrs. Slocombe asked in her posh voice.

"Oh, give over! I saw the way you two was oglin' each other the whole ride in. Come on, out with it!" she demanded.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about!" Mrs. Slocombe tried to avert her gaze. She could feel Miss Brahms evaluating her as she spoke.

Mrs. Slocombe wasn't sure she wanted to share this confidence with Miss Brahms at this early juncture in their retirement life. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea and hadn't really had time to process the incident in the kitchen. She finally settled on the idea of saying nothing for the time being.


	5. Hints, Innuendos, and Pies

**Hints, Innuendos, and Pies**

Mr. Humphries and Mavis sat at the large kitchen table enjoying a friendly cup of tea while they cleaned up a large cache of apples they had gathered in the far orchard. Time and neglect had rendered the orchard a tangled mess of brambles and largely defunct, overgrown trees. They managed to salvage a large bucket of apples from their journey. Wielding paring knives and potato peelers, they cut around the ugly, gnarled spots and found the apples to be quite tasty. They had enough apples to make two pies and Mavis began to mix a double batch of pastry.

"Oh, these pies are going to be lovely for after dinner, Mr. Humphries!" Mavis bubbled.

"They certainly are! You know, I can't remember the last time I had pie made from fresh-picked apples. Once you clean the blemishes off, these apples are really quite good."

"We just don't have enough hands to tend to that orchard properly," she lamented, "It's gone to pot over the past couple of years. Dad usually walks the goats down there and lets them eat the apples off the ground."

Miss Brahms, fresh from her venture into town with Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock, joined them. She retrieved a beaker from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of tea. The spoon tink-tink-tinked against the side of the cup as she stirred in a bit of sugar and milk.

Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe retired to the lounge.

"Have you two noticed anything going on between Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe?" she intimated, piquing their interest.

"No, I can't recall anything off-hand that looked suspicious," Mr. Humphries' eyebrows furrowed and he thought for a moment.

"What are you trying to say, Miss Brahms?" Mavis questioned, "If my dad knew I was gossiping, he'd give me the strap!"

"It's probably nothing," Miss Brahms insinuated, "But, on our outing, they were sitting awfully close and Mrs. Slocombe was holding his arm. I caught them making eyes at each other a few times."

"_No_!" Mr. Humphries interjected, "That doesn't mean anything, Miss Brahms. Mrs. Slocombe is friendly with everyone."

"When have you ever known Captain Peacock to be sweet on _her_?"

"Well," he said reluctantly, "You _do_ have a point there."

"It's probably nothing," Mavis firmly stated.

"Here, make yourself useful," Mr. Humphries instructed, pushing a pile of apples toward Miss Brahms, "Take some of these apples. We're cutting the bumps and ugly spots off. They need to be peeled and cut up. When you're done, put them in a bowl. Put the scraps in the bucket for the pigs."


	6. Wedding Bells

**Wedding Bells**

The wedding date was set and the day had finally arrived. There was so much to do! The manor was scrubbed top to bottom. Originally, Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe considered a wedding date during the slow season, when the manor would not be occupied with guests. But they wanted to have fresh flowers for their wedding and Mavis convinced them that the most beautiful flowers grow wild in the back meadow.

* * *

The guests assembled in the lounge after breakfast.

"May I have your attention, please?" Mr. Rumbold bellowed, "Today is a very special day at Millstone Manor. Two members of our staff are to be married!"

The guests clapped their hands and there began a din of hushed conversations.

Mr. Rumbold continued, "We would like to extend our invitation to you all to join us in the Manor Chapel for the wedding ceremony at 1 pm and return here for a reception dinner."

The guests applauded loudly and retreated to their rooms to prepare for the afternoon's festivities.

* * *

Mavis and Mr. Moulterd sprang into action, setting up buffet tables, spreading tablecloths and bringing out the food.

Miss Lovelock and the local huntsmen bagged 10 pheasants for the wedding feast. They were plucked and gutted. The pheasant feathers made a welcome addition to the compost heap. Mavis and Mrs. Humphries prepared roast pheasant, potatoes, pheasant liver _pâté_, and fresh garden greens.

The pheasants were roasted with some fatty bacon and stuffed with a traditional seasonal herb stuffing.

The reception hall was elegantly decorated with candles, paper wedding bells, crepe paper streamers. Mavis and Mr. Humphries smoothed the table linens and stacked the dinner plates. They polished the silverware and lit the chafing dishes. Everything was set and looked wonderful.

Mr. Rumbold warmed up the chapel's old pipe organ; it coughed and belched dust and the sour notes moaned painfully. After several tries, the organ cooperated, just in time for Mrs. Slocombe to march down the aisle with Miss Brahms accompanying her. Captain Peacock stood at the altar awaiting her. He was in awe at how stunning she looked in her cream-colored skirt suit. Mavis wove a headdress of Queen Anne's lace in lieu of a veil.

Mr. Thorpe, the solicitor for the Grace Brothers' estate presided over the ceremony.

* * *

It was a lovely ceremony and the guests quickly made their way to the Manor lounge to partake of the wedding feast.

Afterwards, a trio of elderly women equipped with a pianoforte, a cello and a violin provided dancing music. It was a beautiful wedding and everyone thoroughly enjoyed themselves.


	7. Wedding Night Blues

**Wedding Night Blues**

They stood in the middle of the floor smiling nervously at each other. He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He slid his braces off his shoulders and unbuttoned them.

"Stephen, would you mind averting your eyes so that I may disrobe?" she asked timidly.

"You're my wife now!" he reminded her gently, "Can't I see you?"

"No," she shook her head slowly. Her past was too painful. How could she tell him she had never seen a man naked before?

He strode over to the table lamp and flipped it off. Then he returned to where she was standing in the middle of the floor and embraced her tenderly. He pressed his lips to hers softly. With the darkness of the room hiding them, he carefully and considerately caressed her. Her eyes snapped shut and she held her breath, not knowing what to expect.

"You're trembling! I'm sorry, Betty, I don't mean to frighten you," he nuzzled the crook of her neck, "Mmm…I love the way you smell."

"I don't know if I'm ready for…um..." she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "intimacy. I guess I never gave it much thought that _that_ might come up…so to speak!"

He chuckled and pressed his lips on hers, "I won't put any undue pressure on you. We don't have to do anything until you are completely ready for it. I want you to be comfortable with me," he reassured her, holding her tightly.

She curled her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and rested one hand on his chest. He sighed contentedly.

_This marriage thing is going to take some getting used to, _she thought.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped his pajama bottoms on, one leg at a time. He pulled on his pajama top and buttoned up the front. Betty stood motionless, unsure what to do next. For almost 40 years, she lived alone. It was only the last 4 months that she shared a room with anyone. She wasn't comfortable to get dressed or undressed in front of Miss Brahms, instead electing to tend to that behind a secure washroom door.

"Are you alright, dear?" he inquired, concerned.

She nodded, her pained expression deceiving her.

"Do you want me to leave the room so you may get dressed?" he suggested.

She smiled tightly and nodded again. He stood up, strode to the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

Betty quickly peeled off her cream colored skirt suit, folded the skirt over a hanger, then threaded it through the sleeves, and hung it in the clothes cupboard. She shimmied into her ankle-length blue satin nightgown, buttoning it to her chin.

He rapped on the door,"All clear?"

"Yes. It is now," she replied.

He ambled into the room. She stood expectantly and he padded up to her, taking her in his arms. She gazed into his eyes, smiling uneasily.

"You're going to have to learn to relax, Betty," he whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you, really I'm not." His eyes were soft and pleading. He smiled urgently and began to smooth his moustache.

She nodded. His hands traveled to her hips and he sighed as he caressed her full curves through the slick fabric of her nightgown. He slid his hands to her thighs and she flinched as his hands explored her.

"I'm sorry," he recoiled, pursing his lips, "How about we start with something like this..."

He curved his arm round the back of her neck and leaned in to kiss her. His lips pressed lightly against hers and she leaned in toward him and returned his kiss. His lips lingered on hers. He didn't dare try an open-mouthed kiss for fear of frightening her. His heart thumped in his chest and he brought his hands up to capture her face in an ardent kiss. She stroked his cheek delicately, her hand resting on his hip. His hands moved along her sides and he embraced her, stoking her soft curves. He felt her stiffen as he ran his hands along her form.

"You _can_ touch me," he whispered invitingly.

"Where?"

"Anywhere you fancy. Here," he coaxed, guiding her hand to his shoulder. Her breath hitched as her palm rested on him.

He chuckled.

She withdrew her hand from him and rested it against her side.

He reached for her hand, captured it, and brought it to his lips. He pressed his lips into her palm.

_Why is this so difficult for her?_ He thought. Then a thought occurred to him:

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

She looked down at the hardwood floor and shook her head. His eyebrows shot up and he looked at her incredulously.

_Well, that explains a few things!_ he thought. Then he bristled at the thought of Maurice Moulterd's accusations and snide remarks and he frowned.

"Let's go to bed," he said flatly.

"I'm not ready," she admitted, almost in tears.

"I'm not expecting anything. You can hold me in your arms, can't you?" he hoped.

"Yes," she smiled and exhaled, relieved, "I can do that!"

"Come on, then."

* * *

**The next morning:**

Betty awoke in Stephen's arms.

She looked around the room bathed in bright sunshine. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

"You're still here!" she said sounding surprised.

"Of course I'm still here; you're my wife, where would I be?" he whispered, hoarse with sleep.

"I don't know. We didn't do anything last night," she sheepishly admitted.

"Well, _I_ did something last night," he confessed.

"What'd you do?" she asked suspiciously.

"I fell in love with you," he smiled shyly, "I lay awake for a long time; I watched you sleep. I felt you breathe and I listened to your heartbeat. You held onto me all night. It was lovely."

He sighed and settled back, melting into her embrace.


	8. In The Game of Chequered Pasts King Me!

**In The Game of Chequered Pasts- King Me!**

"Trouble in Paradise, Cap'n Peacock?" Mr. Moulterd inquired. Captain Peacock was in his usual wing-back chair in front of the fire, reading.

"Mr. Moulterd, that's nothing to do with you. Now get back to your duties!" Captain Peacock waved him off like one would wave off an annoying fly buzzing about.

Honeymoon night number two and he still hadn't gotten past first base. He convinced himself that it had been so long since Betty had been with a man that she was just nervous and self-conscious.

Mr. Moulterd took his pipe from his jacket pocket, struck a match against the fireplace mantle and lit it, he took a long drag, smoke puffing out of the corners of his mouth, "Aye, but I'm not the one on my honeymoon sitting in the lounge reading a book, and it ain't _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ neither! You know, contrary to what _she _says, we had it off quite regularly. She likes to forget that part since she came up in the world. Back then I was a rat catcher. I was dirty, unrefined, but she loved me. She was trained to milk cows, birth calves, gather eggs, make all kinds of soap, churn butter, and preserve food- girl duties. That was where she learnt to make all them salves and herb scrubs.

I was nineteen and working as a farm hand doing manual labor. She was sixteen. We would sneak off to the milking barn. One night we got caught and word got out. Her reputation was ruined, but I still loved her."

"You're lying!" Captain Peacock hissed.

"OK, I'm lyin'," Mr. Moulterd provoked him, "You ain't getting' nothin' from her, am I right?"

"It's none of your business, Mr. Moulterd!" Captain Peacock fumed, clenching his hands into fists.

"Try this then: You kiss her behind the ear, along her neck to her collar bone. See if she don't melt in your arms like butter. Then you can make up your mind whether I'm lyin' or not!"

Captain Peacock bristled. He glared at Mr. Moulterd, huffing, exhaling through clenched teeth. His nostrils flared and he could feel his face flush. Mr. Moulterd enjoyed this display; Captain Peacock's feathers were ruffled. Captain Peacock was on his feet and Mr. Moulterd wondered if they might come to blows.

"You leave my Betty alone!" he growled, closing the distance between them.

"Long a'fore she was 'your Betty', she was _my Rachel_. I have carried a torch for her all these years! Even when I married my wife and we had Mavis, I never forgot my first love."

"Well, she's _my_ wife now!" he glowered, trying not to raise his voice.

"She'll be your wife in title only. She'll never give you what she gave me!"

"Shut up, Mr. Moulterd, and stop making accusations!" Captain Peacock spat, "Betty is refined and poised and beautiful."

"I'm not sayin' she ain't. You do what I told you," Mr. Moulterd said confidently and continued through the lounge and out the kitchen door to feed the chickens.

Miss Lovelock heard the whole exchange and entered the lounge.

"Bedroom trouble, Captain Peacock?" she jeered.

"I beg your pardon?" he cocked his head, trying to soften his countenance.

"Honeymoon not getting off to a good start?" she arched an eyebrow at him seductively.

His eyebrows flew up and his eyes popped wide, "Shut up, Jessica!" He brusquely pushed past her, brushing her shoulder.

Captain Peacock treaded the stairs quietly as not to disturb the others. He entered the room to find Betty still asleep. His stomach flip-flopped. Was Mr. Moulterd teasing him? Why would he tell such an elaborate story just to be cruel? Was there any truth to what he said? She was _his_ wife now. He loved her, warts and all. Ghosts, skeletons, whatever was in her closet, he would accept.

He slipped under the duvet and snuggled up behind her, nuzzling her neck. He planted soft, open-mouthed kisses behind her ear and trailing down her neck. Betty's breath hitched and she moaned softly in her sleep and moved back against his chest. He tightened his embrace, running his hand along her side and resting it on her waist. He continued his ministrations and her breathing deepened.

She bolted awake and regained control of her faculties. She scooted out of his embrace, leapt out of the bed and turned to face him. He followed her, fearful she might storm out of the room.

"What did he tell you?" she snarled, her bright blue eyes blazing, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he asked, his quiet tone sad and hurt.

"I'm trying to forget my past, Stephen! _He's_ trying to relive and recapture it!"

"You only had to be honest with me."

"How could I? Look at him! I didn't want anyone to know I had been with the likes of _him_!"

"You were young and naïve," he reasoned.

"But I _loved_ him!" The words tumbled out. She clasped her hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

He smiled sympathetically at her, "Do you still love him?"

"No!" she shrieked, "Not after what he did to me!"

"What did he do to you?" A hard lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question, but it was all coming out now.

She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face in a steady torrent.

"I have suffered all these years on account of him!" Her cheeks burned with hot tears.

Captain Peacock took her in his arms and held her tightly, "It's alright, dear. Shh…shh."

"When he found out I was pregnant, he wanted to marry me. But he was poor and common as muck. We would have had nothing. I was sixteen. There was no way. So I was sent away to another farm to have the baby. People called me names, talked about me, and treated me very harshly. Then I gave birth; she was beautiful!"

"It was a girl?" he breathed.

"Yes. She was tiny and perfect and beautiful. I barely had a chance to see her or nurse her before they took her away from me."

Betty began crying bitterly, gasping and shaking uncontrollably. He held her, swaying unstably.

"Who took her from you?"

"The farmer's wife and the game handler. The tore her from my arms. I can still hear her screaming," Betty cried.

"You never knew what became of her?"

"No. The records were destroyed in a fire when they bombed London. They didn't really keep records of that sort of thing; they tried to keep it hush-hush, you know how they do. They worried about protecting the identity of the adoptive parents and shielding the baby from the mother's shame. They wanted the baby to have a clean slate. There was a lot of this going on during the war, so they had it all worked out.

They took my baby to a family who didn't ask where she came from. My baby was stolen from me and given away!" she sobbed, "I've never told _anyone_. My parents died in the bombing of London. I was alone. I gave birth during a terrible storm; the farmer's wife was so rough with me, like she was punishing me for my indiscretion. I was sixteen, Stephen_. Sixteen_!"

He just held her tightly as she emptied herself.

"Maurice tried to find me and what had become of our baby. I kept changing my name so he couldn't find me. I wanted to put as much distance between myself, the farm, the war, him, everything," she squared her shoulders.

He pulled back a little and studied her, "Feel better?"

He kissed her tear-soaked cheek.

She nodded, "A little, but I never stopped wondering what happened to her. I never once went a day where I didn't think about her. I would go out and about and I looked inside every pram to see if my baby was in there. When I worked at Lloyd's, every child what came in looked like mine. It was good when I started working in Ladies' Ready-made at Grace Brothers; I didn't see babies every day!

Cecil married me to save my reputation, but I couldn't be with him intimately. He never loved me and eventually ran off with the neighbor's wife."

"I'm sorry, Betty. I never knew…" he sighed heavily.

"See what you got into when you married me? I don't know if I can be with you like that either."

"I'll wait for as long as it takes. I love you, Betty," he whispered.

She smiled and hugged him, resting her head on his chest, finally spent.


	9. Confrontation

**Confrontation**

Captain Peacock collected his thoughts for a moment. The weight of the scenario that had just unfolded came crashing on him. His stomach roiled and he battled with a maelstrom mixed emotions: anger, sympathy, love, respect, possessiveness, disgust, which threatened to pull him into the vortex.

Betty had confessed the most sacred and guarded detail of her life to him and he did not know how to feel. Anger began to seethe within him. How could Maurice Moulterd make light of her past, a past of which he was an integral part?

Her nickname "The Tiverton Bicycle" was not one of endearment or even jest, but of malice and ridicule toward a young girl who found herself in trouble and alone. The level of shame and agony that she carried with her for over 50 years was insurmountable. Captain Peacock knew he could do nothing to take away her anguish. The wound had been reopened and as raw as it was 50 years ago.

Captain Peacock could feel the rage building within him. He stepped back from Betty and began to pull out clothing for himself. He untied the drawstring cord of his silk pajama bottoms, slid them off, and draped them over the arm of the wing-back chair. He unbuttoned his pajama top, removed it and set it with the bottoms.

Betty turned away from her husband as he changed into a fresh pair of boxer shorts. She did snap her neck round quickly to catch a glimpse of his naked bum, which did not go unnoticed.

Captain Peacock wasted no time in dressing in a grey suit, starched white shirt, cufflinks, and his usual Regimental striped tie. He sat on the edge of the bed, slipped his feet into his shoes, and tied them.

"Where are you going, Stephen?" Betty asked softly.

"To feed the chickens!" he replied, trying not to sound angry. His anger was not directed at her.

He briskly descended the stairs, striding through the kitchen. He waved at his comrades as he exited through the back door, side-stepping over Tiddles. They all looked at each other in bewilderment as the blur that was Captain Peacock rushed by.

Captain Peacock scanned the barnyard looking for Mr. Moulterd. He recognized his form in the distance turning the compost heap with a large fork. Captain Peacock stormed toward him, hands clenched into tight, angry fists.

"It didn't work fer ya, did it?" Mr. Moulterd cajoled, "I told ya, she'll never give ya what she gave me!"

Captain Peacock's eyes burned. He drew back and his fist crashed hard against Mr. Moulterd's grimy, rough cheek. He stumbled back, caught off guard.

"Have ya gone _mad_? What'ja do 'at fer?" he shrieked, shaking his head, trying to regain his composure.

Captain Peacock could only see red as he silently drew back and hit him again. Mr. Moulterd lost his footing and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"Ya barmy git!" he hissed, scrambling to his feet, "what's got into ya?"

"You lied," Captain Peacock growled menacingly, "You _lied!_ There was more to it than you let on! You call her that name! How could you? You insinuate she was a _whore_!" his voice raising.

His eyes pricked with angry tears that would not fall. He furiously drew his breath through clenched teeth, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath..

Mr. Moulterd dabbed at the bleeding corner of his mouth with his dirty, tattered sleeve, "How did I lie, you tell me that! She _did_ love me, did she tell you that?"

Captain Peacock stood silent, staring right through him, rage seething within him.

"She _did_ tell you that, didn't she?" Mr. Moulterd countered, "And she did tell you we'd made love, didn't she?"

Captain Peacock's steely resolve held. He stared at him from beneath his brows. He stood stoically with his hands on his hips, ignoring the pain in his right hand. The things Mr. Moulterd was saying _were_ true.

"Then what, _Captain_ Peacock, am I supposed to be lyin' 'bout?" he sputtered, brushing straw and muck from his already filthy jacket and trousers.

"The baby," he uttered through gritted teeth, "You left out that small detail."

Mr. Moulterd stumbled back as if he'd been hit again. His eyes were soft and sad.

"That was my baby and she gave it away like it was nothin'," he murmured, "I woulda raised it m'self, but she never even asked me. Then she took off back to London and I never seen her again 'til you all come out here four months ago."

"They took the baby away from her as soon as she was born," Captain Peacock offered.

"It was a girl?" he gasped, his eyes wide.

"Yes. They tore her from Betty's arms and put her up for adoption. Betty barely had a chance to look at her."

He put his grungy hand to his mouth, his chin quivered.

"And here I was told she got rid of my baby. I believed that all these years," he said sadly, leaning on the handle of the hayfork.

"The people on that other farm were horrible to her. She gave birth during a terrible storm; the farmer's wife was rough with her. They called her names and ridiculed her."

"I could see why she wouldn't want nothin' to do with me. I caused that," he acknowledged, "Then she come out here ta live and enjoy her retirement and I'm callin' her that hateful name what they all called her."

Mr. Moulterd was suddenly overcome with anguish. He looked at Captain Peacock and dropped his fork before scurrying off toward the milking barn.


	10. Reconciliation

**Reconciliation**

Captain Peacock strode slowly back to the Manor, his hand smarting and beginning to swell. He looked down at the ground as he walked, trying to decipher the events of the past 24 hours. He kicked at a few pebbles and watched the chickens scratching and pecking the freshly turned compost.

Betty scurried down the back stairs and through the kitchen, not bothering to cast a glance at her fellow residents as she fled through the kitchen door. Her deep violet chiffon dress flowed behind her like a sail.

She eyed Captain Peacock coming up the gravel drive towards her. He looked up and smiled as he saw her. She quickened her pace and stopped when she was within a few paces of him.

"Where's Mr. Moulterd?" she gasped, out of breath from her jaunt in heels.

"I saw him headed towards the milking barn," he replied.

He rubbed his right hand, wincing. Betty could see his hand was bruised and a small amount of blood was crusting along the knuckles.

"What's happened to your hand?" she questioned, concerned.

He shook his head, "It was nothing. A careless accident, that's all." He stepped aside and continued on his way to the kitchen.

Betty hurried to the milking barn.

Captain Peacock entered the back door and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

"We saw the whole thing from the door, Captain Peacock!" Mr. Humphries chirped, "It's about time someone put him in his place for how he's been talking to Mrs. Slo-, err..I mean Mrs. Peacock."

Captain Peacock sighed dejectedly. _Mrs. Peacock._ His throat constricted as he thought about all that had happened. Would she still be Mrs. Peacock after today?

Would she want to be? He grimaced as the cool water and soap washed over his injured knuckles. The pain in his heart was excruciating. He silently turned and left them, ascending the stairs with heavy footsteps.

"I'll bring you up a nice tray of tea and toast, Captain Peacock," called Mavis.

They all sat gaping. They felt helpless to do anything to help their friends.

"I don't know what to say," said Mr. Rumbold dumbfounded.

"Then don't say anything!" Miss Brahms admonished.

Mr. Rumbold's shoulders slumped dejectedly. She was right; he would just make a cock-up of things if he started talking. He filled his cup with tea and drank it slowly.

Betty entered the milking barn to find Mr. Moulterd sitting on the milking stool with his forehead resting against Betsy.

"Maurice?"

He sat up and spun round to look at her, his eyes red-rimmed and the corner of his mouth crusted with dried blood.

"Rachel, what're you doing here?" his eyes fixed on the straw bedding under the cow.

"I came to see you," she breathed..

"Rachel, I never knowed what became of you when you left Tiverton. Whenever someone would go to Rackenford, I would ask to go, but they would never let me. You know I never learnt to read and write, so I couldn't send word to ya. I would ask whenever someone came from that other farm and I was told you didn't want nothin' ta do with me," he lamented.

She laid her hand gently on his shoulder, "I was in shock; they stole our baby. The girls I was with resented me because I couldn't do the heavy work and they called me all sorts of hurtful names. The farmer's wife treated me awful because I had to eat more on account of the baby and I couldn't do the field work any more. I had to have the baby in the barn; the farmer and his wife didn't want me befouling their house with my 'bastard child'! There was a terrible storm the night I gave birth. The doors of the barn blew open and I could see lightning striking all around. The farmer's wife had to deliver the baby because the doctor refused to come out in the storm. She treated me like she would have treated a cow. I had to lie down on a horse blanket on straw. The game keeper held a lantern, but nobody held my hand; I was terrified; I thought I was going to die in that barn and I know no one would have cared!"

"I would have cared," he said softly, "I'm sorry I put you through that. I would have raised that baby meself if I had known."

"I know, but I wasn't given any choice. I just about gave birth and they took her straightaway, literally cut the cord and ran!" she sobbed.

"Then you come out here and I was so rude and nasty to ya! I had no right to act that way," he admitted, "Can ya ever forgive me, Rachel?"

She squeezed his shoulder gently.

She nodded silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. He reached into his coat and pulled out a grimy rag, "Here, take my handkerchief!" he offered.

"I think I'd rather not," she wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"You know," he bellowed, "That Cap'n Peacock really loves you. He's a good man and he's got a good right hook! Go to him, Rachel."

She smiled tightly and turned to leave. She gave him one final glance before heading back up the driveway to the Manor.

"Don'chu worry 'bout me," he drawled, "I'll be a'ight."

He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of fags, jerked his hand up quickly so one popped up, and put it to his lips. He scraped a match across his tired boot and lit it, then touched the match to the end of his fag. His cheeks puckered as he sucked in a long drag, exhaling slowly.

* * *

Betty hurried through the kitchen to the back stairs.

"It's like Kensington Station!" exclaimed Mr. Humphries.

Mavis was treading down the stairs as Betty was going up.

"I brought Captain Peacock a tray of tea and toast. I set some on it for you as well, Mrs. Peacock," she said cheerfully.

"Thank you, dear. That was very kind of you."

"He's in his room," Mavis informed her.

Betty quickened her pace up the stairs, her shoes thunking on the wooden steps.

Her stomach knotted as she stood quietly outside the door to Captain Peacock's room. She could hear him inside stirring a cup of tea. Mustering her courage, she swallowed hard, and gently tapped on the door.

He shuffled a bit and cleared his throat, "Hmm…Yes?"

"Stephen, it's me, Betty, may I please come in?" she pleaded.

The door opened slightly and he peered out. He smiled at the sight of her; his eyes were puffy but he was happy to see her.

He swung the door open and stepped toward her.

"I'm sorry I put you through all of that. Oh! Look at your hand!" she cried, "You did that for me?"

He looked down at the hardwood floor and his mouth curved into a short smile. She took his hand in hers and pressed her lips into the palm, avoiding the scraped part. He cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned in to kiss her.

He stopped just before he reached her lips, "This _is_ alright, isn't it?"

"Yes!" she chirped and pursed her lips to receive his kiss.

"Come in, _Mrs. Peacock_!" he welcomed her, "Mavis brought a tray of tea and toast. Won't you sit down?"

The elegant tray sat on his tightly made bed. Mavis had included a bright orange wild honeysuckle in a bud vase made of cut crystal. He led her to the armchair and poured her a cup of tea.


	11. Changing Lodgings

**Changing Lodgings**

Day 4 of Captain and Mrs. Peacock's honeymoon. After a rather awkward and rocky start, they settled into the Honeymoon Suite and decided to take their meals in the room, utilizing the dumb waiter instead of going down to the kitchen. The morning was sunny and warm and birds twittered in the tree outside their window.

Captain Peacock and Mrs. Peacock sat on the settee, his long legs stretched out. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Betty pressed her lips into the fabric of his silk pajamas. She was lost in his embrace and he kissed the top of her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. His eyes flickered shut and his breathing deepened.

"Stephen?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm ready," she sighed.

"Ready for what?" he asked dreamily.

"_Ready!_" she said insistently.

She turned her face up to gaze at him. He was taken aback and his face lit up and he kissed her heatedly. She cupped his cheek in her hand and ran her fingers through the curly hair of his sideburns.

"Do you think I should have gotten some protection when we went into town the other day?"

"Protection from _what_?" she shot him a quizzical look.

"Oh, how silly of me!" he chuckled nervously, "It's been so long, I was worried about you getting pregnant!"

He laughed heartily, wide-mouthed, and she saw something in his face she had never seen before.

_His eyes are beautiful! _she thought. _And I've never seen him smile like that- he has dimples!_

She blushed. He cupped her face in his warm hands and pressed his lips to hers as she ran her hands up his chest. She reveled in his embrace, inhaled the scent of his after shave, her mouth curling into a contented smile. When their lips parted, she gazed into his dark, grey eyes. He smiled at her lovingly, pursed his lips and covered her lips with his.

_He _is _sexy! _she marveled.

"I love you, Stephen."

He tightened his arms around her.

"I've waited so long to hear you say that," he cried.

"We've only been married four days!" she exclaimed.

"That's a long time!"

He gently caressed her back and shoulders, playfully kissing her neck and nibbling her earlobe. He looked at her from beneath his brows, his gaze intense and smoldering.

"That day at Grace Brothers, when we attended the reading of Mr. Grace's will, when I helped you out of the lift and you fell into my arms…my heart fluttered."

She blushed again, "Mine too."

"I love you, Betty," he breathed.

"I love you, too."

"The other day, when I was dressing to go talk to Mr. Moulterd, I saw you in the mirror looking at my bum!" he blushed.

"You have a very nice bum, Stephen!" she admitted.

He slid his hands down to her hips and softly gave her bum a gentle squeeze, "You have a rather nice bum yourself, Mrs. Peacock!"

He rather liked calling her Mrs. Peacock.

He stood up and proffered his hand to her, leading her to their bed.

"You'll be gentle, Stephen?" she asked, her eyes wide and pleading.

He nodded, smiling warmly, "Of course. We'll take it nice and slow. We've got all day…and tomorrow…and the next day."

He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her lips to his.

* * *

Betty moved her things into Stephen's room, which was more than adequate for the two of them. He had a double bed and extra space in his dressers and clothes cupboard. And there was that bathtub he bragged about. "A big one!" to use his exact words. Betty settled into her new quarters.

* * *

"Blimey! It's like livin' next door to the cast of _Cocoon_!" Miss Brahms complained to Mr. Humphries, Mavis and Mr. Rumbold over breakfast.

"_Again?_" Mr. Humphries raised his eyebrows, his voice shrill.

"_Twice _last night!" Miss Brahms articulated, holding up two fingers, "It's bad enough I've had to listen to his snoring, but this is really more than I can endure. I mean, I know old people have it off, but I don't want to _know_ old people have it off!"

"Mrs. Peacock is a spry woman; we've all seen her on the cricket field! And Captain Peacock is in very good physical condition as well, so it's not unusual for them to be amorous at their ages. Obviously, he gets her motor revving, so to speak. He really turns her crank!" Mr. Rumbold stated matter-of-factly between bites of toast.

"It sounded more like she was turnin' his!" Miss Brahms quipped.

They all gaped then fell into tittering.

"Well someone should tell them about their vocal…_activities_," Mr. Rumbold suggested.

They all stared at him expectantly.

"Who? _Me?"_ he interjected, "Why me?"

"You're the senior," Mavis pointed out.

"I can't just tell them that their lovemaking is too loud!" he blushed.

"OK," Mr. Humphries started, "How 'bout you suggest they move into that empty room up over the larder, you know, the one that had the mummified moggy in the wall?"

They heard Stephen and Betty descending the stairs to the kitchen. Their voices were jovial and playful as they talked, walking hand in hand.

"Shh-shh-shh…here they come!" Mr. Humphries warned.

They all sat stone-faced, coffee cups in hand, as if nothing was amiss. Stephen and Betty entered the kitchen and took their seats at the table. Stephen held the chair for Betty and pushed it in for her as she sat.

They sensed something was being discussed before their entrance and looked around at their friends uneasily.

Stephen cleared his throat.

"Would you like some coffee, Dear?" Betty offered.

"Yes, please," he smiled and followed her with his eyes as she retrieved two cups and poured coffee for them.

Betty sat down next to her husband and he laced his fingers with hers, lightly stroking her palm with his thumb. No one spoke and Betty, not able to endure the awkward silence any more, chimed in.

"OK, you lot! Out with it. What's up?" she said pointedly.

Mr. Rumbold winced, trying to choose his words carefully, "Well, Miss Brahms here was just telling us about some very unusual noises she's been hearing at night."

"Yes! That's it!" Mr. Humphries added, nodding.

Betty and Stephen blushed.

"We weren't aware that we were making that much noise! I apologize, Miss Brahms," Betty gasped, mortified.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Miss Brahms," Stephen looked down at his coffee, flushed with embarrassment.

"I understand, you two are newlyweds, Captain Peacock. But…" Miss Brahms scolded.

"Oh, yes, absolutely, Miss Brahms. We'll curtail our…_enthusiasm_!" Stephen promised.

"I'd appreciate it," she conceded.

"Might I make a suggestion, Captain Peacock?" Mr. Rumbold offered.

"Go on," Stephen said dryly, not sure what was going to come out of Mr. Rumbold's mouth.

"The room over the larder is empty. You and Mrs. Peacock could move in there and be as loud as you please..."

Betty and Stephen looked at each other, grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

"The room _is_ bigger than the one we have now…" Stephen pondered, "But it does need to be freshened up and the hole in the wall needs patched."

"Oh, Dad can do that fer ya!" Mavis proposed, "He can paint the room and fix that 'ole!"

"Then it's settled!" Mr. Rumbold clapped his hands together and tucked into his soft-boiled eggs and toast.

"What would you like for breakfast, Captain Peacock? Mrs. Peacock?" Mavis asked, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Just one fried egg and toast, please, Mavis," Captain Peacock requested.

"I'll have a boiled egg; make it a nice hard one," Betty stated.

"I think you've had enough!" Miss Brahms quipped. They all sputtered and tittered. Captain Peacock's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Don't be cheeky, Miss Brahms!" Betty glared.

"Would you like some bacon? It'd be no trouble at all to fix it," Mavis offered.

"No, just one egg and toast will be fine, thank you, Dear!" Betty nodded, "How 'bout you, Dear?"

"I'm fine with one egg and toast. Thank you, Mavis."

"Very well," she chirped, then turning to them and leaning in, "Don't pay them no mind. I think it's cute that you two are in love."

Stephen and Betty looked sheepishly at her.

Mavis went over to the stove and began fixing their breakfasts. The toaster popped up and Mavis quickly slathered the bread with fresh butter.

They gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, fingers entwined. Betty leaned over and gently kissed her husband's arm.

"Ahem!" Mavis cleared her throat, "Your breakfast is ready, you two lovebirds!"

"How long did you say it was going to take your father to get that room ready?" Mr. Humphries inquired jokingly, licking his lips.

"Now, Mr. Humphries, you stop! That's very naughty!" Mavis admonished.


	12. Afternoon Delight

**Afternoon Delight**

With the morning's chores all done, Betty and Stephen retired to their room for a little afternoon canoodling. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves and braces and they lay on their bed in each other's arms, relaxing and talking. He brushed her lips gently with his. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, tracing along his chin and neck. His mouth curled up at the edges into a soft smile.

"You know, Stephen, you have a lovely smile. I wish you would have smiled more at Grace Brothers; I would have liked to have seen it more," she purred.

"I didn't have much to smile about. I went to work to escape my miserable marriage. I disliked my job. I always had to be so serious and it seemed everyone was having a good time…often at my expense," he lamented.

"We were trying to get you to lighten up," she said gently tickling him.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her temple.

Betty rolled into his embrace, loosened his tie, brushed his ear lightly with her lips, and began planting open-mouth kisses on his neck. He moaned contentedly and pressed his fingertips into the softness of her shoulders and back.

She straddled his thigh, kissing his smooth skin ardently. He moved his hips, pressing himself against her. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitched, and he arched his back, moaning softly. Betty traced the edges of his ears, caressing him. He ran his fingers through her blue-tinted hair, his breathing erratic and heavy.

Stephen earnestly moved his hips against her as she tantalized him, opening and closing her mouth along his neck and throat, teasing him with her tongue.

A deep impassioned moan welled inside him and he was moving rhythmically against her. His eyes remained tightly shut and his mouth formed an **_o_**, moaning in sync with his movements. She moaned gently as she continued her ministrations, cupping his cheek in her hand.

He gritted his teeth and scratched her back through the airy fabric of her frock. Betty could feel Stephen's heart pounding wildly against her chest, his groaning reaching a crescendo as he bit his lip and drove himself against her thigh in ecstasy. He reached down to clench the lithe softness of her hips, turned his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck, a guttural groan escaping through his parted lips as he found release, panting and moaning against her skin.

His hips stilled and his breathing slowed, his chest softly rising and falling, sated. His eyes flickered open and he pulled back, struggling to focus on her radiant face. He was peacefully basking in her embrace; she smiled lovingly at him. Suddenly his countenance turned from contentment to a stricken expression.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he sputtered, gaping, "I've never felt that before!"

"A loss of control? I quite enjoyed it," she crooned, tracing little circles on his chest.

"It seems I've made a bit of a mess of myself," he said softly, his brows knitted, embarrassed.

"That's OK, Darling, we'll go and wash our things in the teaseling barn," she explained.

He nodded. She cupped his face in her hands and lightly pressed her lips to his.

He wriggled himself free, "I've not had that happen since I was a lad!" he pouted, "I didn't know that could happen just from kissing."

"You have a very alluring neck!" she flirted, her bright blue eyes dancing, "And we weren't _just_ kissing…"

"Well, where are your sensitive spots?" he sulked.

"You'll have to discover them for yourself!" she teased.

"We _do_ have the rest of our lives together to explore each other," he grinned, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"…and since we've gotten off to such a late start, we'd better get on with it!"


	13. Raggs to Riches

Raggs to Riches

Unable to sleep, Captain Peacock slipped out for an early morning stroll round the manor grounds. The sun was just beginning to wake; the chickens and cocks were scurrying about, clucking and crowing. Songbirds twittered and chirped in the trees. A soft breeze stirred the willows and the fresh scent of wild honeysuckle drifted on the air. Dew dripped from the leaves and a light mist rose from the duck pond. The air was cool and balmy; Stephen felt rejuvenated and envigored. He sucked in a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head.

In the tall grass along the perimeter, he spotted some bustling. Thinking it was just a pheasant or rabbit, he walked on. The bushes stirred with a scratching, rustling sound and Stephen turned round to investigate. Suddenly from within the thicket, a deep growl erupted and Stephen stood still in fear. He swallowed hard, unsure what was going to lunge out at him.

He watched wide-eyed as the grass swayed and parted. A large, greyish-brown dog with long, scraggly matted hair cowered out, timidly. Its hind legs crouched beneath it and its tail firmly tucked in between its legs. He could see cockleburs forming tangled clots in the dog's fur.

The dog came at Stephen almost groveling, its big brown eyes pleading. It looked under nourished and a bit on the bony side. Stephen looked around for an owner. No one.

"Shoo! Shoo, you cur!" He fanned his arms at the dog, trying to frighten it.

The dog approached Stephen cautiously circling round.

"Shoo!" Stephen hissed insistently.

The dog came within a few feet of him and started wagging its tail and panting. Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. The dog continued closer.

Stephen balled his hand into a fist, bent over slightly, and extended his hand toward the dog's nose. He figured it'd be more difficult for the dog to bite his closed fist than splayed fingers.

The dog sniffed his hand and rolled to the ground, exposing her belly.

"Get up! Get up!" he ordered.

The dog crouched at his feet and he reached down and scratched her head, feeling the damp shaggy and matted hair.

"Hey! You're quite friendly!" he mused, smiling.

Mr. Moulterd walked up as he made his way to the milking barn, "Hey! What've ya got there, Cap'n Peacock? Looks like you've made a friend!" he bellowed.

"I was thinking she must have come from one of the other farms," Stephen explained.

"No, he's not from any of the farms round 'ere! I knows most of the dogs round 'ere," he intoned, "People come here from the city and drops off all kinds of animals- dogs, cats and such. Most times they gets run over in the road. Other times they gets shot trying to get into the henhouses or they just dies of exposure to the weather."

Stephen's heart constricted at the thought of such cruelty.

"Looks like you've got yourself a dog! I wonder how Rachel's pussy's gonna take to 'at! But it seems to 'ave adjusted to _you_ just fine!" he guffawed and Stephen winced at his crudeness.

"C'mon," Stephen said, slapping his thigh.

"What'cha gonna call 'at thing?" Mr. Moulterd asked.

"Well, she is raggedy and she looks like a pair of ragg wool socks…Raggs!"

The dog barked excitedly, jumping and circling round.

"You're gonna 'ave to give 'im a bath a'fore ya takes 'im in the 'ouse! Ya can use the teaseling barn; there's some good lye soap in 'ere and in the stables is some brushes you can use. You can prob'ly get some towels from Mavis a'fore she puts 'em in the wash!" Mr. Moulterd's voice beckoned, "You could ask Mavis how to get them cockleburs out of its fur."

"Thank you, Mr. Moulterd."

The whole dog wagged, shaking and slinging water and mud from her coat.

"C'mon, Raggs! Let's see what's for breakfast!" Stephen called as he strode back toward the main house, Raggs running ahead.


End file.
